Justice League of America - Batman: The Stone King (8 page)

As his alter ego, the Flash–the Fastest Man Alive–Wally could have run home in less than a second. But that would be defeating the purpose of his evening–to relax, for once, and forget all about superspeed. He'd seen the game, he'd eaten the pizza. It was only a fifteen-minute subway ride.

Pleasantly full, Wally leaned against a pillar, only half paying attention to the evening newspaper he held. The warning bell rang out to announce the imminent arrival of a train, and Wally tossed his newspaper in a trash can as the lights approached from the darkness of the tunnel.

"Train approaching," a disembodied voice blared from the station speakers. "Stand clear of the platform edge."

As if on cue, several commuters moved disobediently toward the platform's edge. Long use of the subway system had made them jaded about its safety rules and regulations. This was the one time they should have heeded the announcer's warning.

Instead of slowing to a halt, the train accelerated.

Wally West caught a fleeting glimpse of the driver's face as the train flashed toward him.

It's not going to stop!
he thought, seeing the blank, almost zombielike cast to the conductor's features.

The deafening roar of the train echoed through the station, and Wally saw sudden panic on the faces of those commuters standing close to the edge. Traveling at this speed, the train's slipstream would suck them down onto the tracks as it sped by.

Wally moved at the speed of thought itself. His costume, a manifestation of the speed force, appeared around him, his mind willing it into being.

A microsecond later, Wally West was transformed into his super hero identity–the Flash, the Scarlet Speedster, the Fastest Man Alive.

Once, Wally was a boy, a kid like any other. Until the accident. While visiting his uncle, police scientist Barry Allen, an unlikely combination of chemicals had exploded in the lab. Wally was drenched and knocked unconscious. When he came to, he found that he had mysteriously acquired the ability to control every single molecule in his body–to make them speed up so much that he became effectively invisible.

Since that day Wally had dedicated himself to mastering his newfound powers and putting them to work on behalf of humankind. He was honored to be asked to join the Justice League of America. When not battling against threats to the planet, shoulder to shoulder with his fellow super heroes, the Flash worked for the benefit of the citizens of Keystone City.

The train was shooting through the station in a nightmare of noise, moving so fast it swayed dangerously from side to side on the rails beneath its wheels. Wally saw distressed faces at the carriage windows, people screaming as they clung to the straps, rocking against the train's motion.

Suddenly, the last carriage was streaming past. Even as the vacuum created by the train's speed pulled at the people on the platform's edge, the Flash was a red blur running toward them at incredible speed. He grabbed the belt of an overcoat as its wearer overbalanced and began to fall forward, yanking the man back to safety before he even realized he was in danger.

Then the Flash's body was between the other passengers and the track, the Shockwave created in the air by his speed gently shifting them back from the edge.

It happened so fast, the passengers had no idea what was going on. As the train's rear lights disappeared out of the station, the Flash didn't hesitate. He leaped down onto the track without breaking stride and streaked after the out-of-control train.

His legs pumping like pistons, the Flash raced along the track in the wake of the speeding train, his super-speed allowing him to quickly overhaul it. He saw the terrified faces of the passengers in the end car as he caught up with it, and his mind sifted swiftly through the alternatives.

He could try to unhitch the cars from the engine, leaving them to slow down and stop naturally. But that was a delicate maneuver to try and perform when the train was moving at a good eighty miles an hour through the confines of the tunnel. He could swing himself up into one of the cars and apply the emergency brake, but a sudden halt at this speed might unbalance the whole train and send it rattling off the tracks.

No, there was only one way to stop it. He had to incapacitate the driver and use the main brakes to bring the runaway engine under control.

It wouldn't be easy: there was less than eighteen inches of clearance on either side of the swaying train. It would take only one unexpected jolt, and all of the Flash's vaunted speed would do him no good as he was crushed between the train and the unyielding tunnel wall.

The Flash judged his moment perfectly, leaping two steps sideways, accelerating at unbelievable speed as he moved into the narrow gap between the train and the wall. His eyes scanned what he could see of the track ahead, looking for railside obstructions. If he hit a signal, or even a discarded workman's tool, he knew that he faced death, or at the very least severe injury.

A few hundred yards ahead, the Flash saw the glow of a red stop signal. Beyond it, he knew that the tracks crossed; one of the Suburban Line trains had right-of-way. Unless he could halt this train now, there was going to be an accident of cataclysmic proportions.

The Flash accelerated, his feet almost flying as he leaped lithely from the end of one concrete sleeper beam to another, leaving carriage after carriage behind him. He drew level with the engine, casting a final glance at the fast-approaching red signal as he made his move. If he got it wrong, there was no hope of a second chance.

Grabbing the handle on the outside of the door, the Flash swung both legs smoothly off the track, bringing his feet up to smash through the toughened glass of the window. An instant later he was inside.

Kurt Glaser's eyes stared straight ahead, blazing with an unnatural light There was a slight smile on the man's lips, as if he was looking forward to the crash that was now only seconds away.

"Brake!" the Flash yelled.

Kurt Glaser didn't even turn to look as he threw out one fist in a savage backhand blow. Taken by surprise, the Flash barely managed to jerk his head aside in time. Glaser's fist whistled past his chin, embedding itself in the cab wall with a fearsome crash.

Superstrength!

Before the possessed Kurt Glaser could react, the Flash's fist shot out, delivering a rapid-fire series of triphammer blows to the driver's head. Glaser went down like a tenpin, sprawling unconscious on the floor of the cab.

Through the cab window, the Flash saw that they were almost on top of the signal. Desperately, he grabbed the brake handle and pushed it forward to its furthest extent. The train wheels screamed as the potent air brakes bit, sending up an explosion of sparks.

The brake shuddered and shook in the Flash's hand as he fought to hold it in position. For a moment, he thought the engine was going to jump the tracks. He knew that the sudden deceleration would be throwing the passengers around in the cars behind–but better that than a headlong smash into another train.

The Flash breathed a deep sigh of relief as the train ground to a halt a dozen yards beyond the signal, but still a good way short of the cross track. There was a roar of moving air, and he saw the lights of the Suburban Line Special speed by in front of him. Only then did he realize just how close they'd come to disaster. Another half second and . . .

The Flash dismissed the thought. In the hero business, you'd go crazy if you dwelled on all the near misses. For the first time, he glanced down at Kurt Glaser. There was a momentary flicker of blue light, then Glaser groaned and opened his eyes with an obvious effort.

He stared uncomprehendingly at the Flash, then lapsed back into unconsciousness.

The Flash fingered the emergency button that would sound a distress call in the control center. Then he set off toward the rear of the train to ensure the passengers were all right.

As he went, his mind seethed with unanswered questions.

Cape Canaveral, Florida

"Almost midnight, the end of October, and it's still eighty degrees out here. I'm telling you, Clark–it's not natural!"

Jimmy Olsen dabbed at the perspiration beaded on his forehead with a handkerchief. His flaming red hair was damp from humidity, collecting into the tight little curls he hated so much, the way it always did when he was wet. Florida had been enjoying a late-season heat wave as a ridge of strong high pressure lay unmoving offshore.

Beside Jimmy, Clark Kent used a spotted kerchief to wipe the fog off the lenses of his heavy-rimmed glasses. "Perhaps if we put in a complaint to NASA," he said lightly to his younger companion, "they'll relocate the space shuttle launches to Metropolis. We'll be able to cover them for the
Daily Planet
and still be in bed by midnight."

"In bed?" There was a note of mock scorn in the young photographer's voice. "You really are a homebody, aren't you, Clark?"

A small smile played around the corners of Clark's mouth.
If Jimmy only knew,
the reporter thought to himself.

They were seated in the press stands erected specially for the launch, a full quarter-mile away from the mighty Saturn-class rocket that would follow the shuttle
Lincoln
into the upper atmosphere. Over the past few years the public had grown used to shuttle launches; they were no longer the newsworthy events they once had been.

Tonight's blastoff was something special, though. For the first time ever, an American astronaut would be going into orbit accompanied by his Russian and Chinese counterparts. Their mission had a dozen different objectives, from observing the behavior of fungi cultures in a zero-gravity environment to monitoring the network of communication satellites that was slowly but inexorably drawing Russia and the People's Republic of China closer to the American way of life.

"It's about time." Jimmy aimed his binoculars at the complex of prefabricated buildings that surrounded the launch site. "That's the vehicle carrying the crew appearing now."

Clark pretended to follow the young man's gaze with his own binoculars and saw a white, futuristic but chunky-looking vehicle powering up the removable ramp toward the crew entry hatch. Clark had already done his interviews with the flight leaders, Martin Spears, Grigor Mendel, and Li Xing. The laptop computer that was connected to his cell phone had automatically sent his feature article back to editor Perry White in downtown Metropolis. Jimmy had shot his close-ups of the astronauts, and now he wanted one final photo of the shuttle lifting off into the velvet, starry sky.

Clark saw the figures step out of the vehicle at the end of the ramp. They turned, and each raised a hand in recognition of the distant watchers in the press stands before stooping to squeeze through the entrance hatch.

There followed a long, boring wait in the oppressive nighttime heat as the shuttle crew ran through their prelaunch checks.

Jimmy passed the time swigging from one of the liter bottles of water he'd been buying ever since they'd arrived in Florida the day before. He checked and rechecked his camera, making sure the proper distance and light conditions were programmed in. There would be a very narrow window of opportunity for him to snap the breathtaking shot he wanted, and he was determined nothing would go wrong.

Clark Kent's thoughts were more philosophical. More than anything else, he wanted peace in this world of humans he had adopted for his own. As his alter ego, Superman, he did everything in his power to safeguard humankind against attack, be it from insane earthly supervillains or threats from outer space. The vast powers bestowed upon him by Krypton, the planet where he'd been born, and the yellow sun under which he now lived, ensured that few if any threats could withstand the Man of Steel.

But in his heart of hearts, Clark knew realistically that the world would only find a rest from hatred and war when humanity learned for itself the virtues of cooperation and universal tolerance. These were values that could never be forced on people, but had to be gladly and willingly embraced if any lasting change was to be made. An international space shuttle crew might not sound like much, but it was a step in the right direction.

Clark suddenly remembered the Justice League engagement the month before, at the site of the Gotham Dam disaster. Funny how none of the other Leaguers, like Aquaman, Plastic Man, or Zauriel, rubbed him the wrong way. Only Batman.

Superman had always felt uncomfortable with the fact that Batman operated outside the law. A vigilante, rather than a hero. Yet he had to admit that Batman always got the job done. Still, if it was so hard for them to get along in perfect harmony, small wonder that whole nations found it much more difficult.

Though deep in thought, Clark was far from inactive. His eyes scanned the area ceaselessly, his X-ray vision probing deep into the space base's most hidden corners. No accident, no unforeseen sequence of events, could be allowed to hamper this historic moment.

Just then, on the far side of the base, his amazing Kryptonian vision detected something strange. There was a sudden flare of blue light, so brief that it disappeared again almost immediately.

"Did you see that?" he asked Jimmy, but the photographer's binoculars were still trained on the rocket.

"The ramps have withdrawn, the hatches are sealed," Jimmy intoned. "The stablizers are pulling in. The countdown will begin any minute now."

Clark got to his feet. "Excuse me a moment," he said hurriedly. "Must be the heat–I feel a little faint."

"Take off your tie and unbutton your collar," Jimmy suggested, not looking up.

But Clark was already gone, sidling past the other news and camera teams assembled on the press stands. He reached the bottom of the wooden steps and, surreptitiously checking to make sure he wasn't observed, slipped into the dark shadows beneath.

Less than a second later he emerged again, his formal suit gone, replaced by the bright red-and-blue costume of Superman. His red cape streamed behind him as he flew at speed across the base, heading toward the spot where he'd seen the mysterious blue light.